


Nature's Lace

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosie was never terribly fond of flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature's Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spring/Green challenge at [**lotr_community**](http://lotr-community.livejournal.com/); my element was fern green

Rosie was never terribly fond of flowers, cut or otherwise. They were pretty enough and smelled nice and there was no denying they could brighten up a room, but they just didn't hold great appeal for her. She knew from an early age this was not considered "normal," especially for a young Hobbit girl, so she learned to keep this particular sentiment to her herself. She couldn't even bring herself to tell Sam, who seemed to view flowers as a kind of symbol of his love for her. He filled their garden with all matter of flowers, a veritable explosion of color and perfume, and every day he would bring her one, either home-grown or wild, and on Sunday a small bouquet would be placed sweetly into her hands. She could see his joy when presenting them, the affection and love behind the gift, so she said not a word and her smile as she accepted them was as bright as the sun.

But the truth has a way of coming to light, and one day Sam found himself laid up in bed with a bad case of the flu. The worst of it would pass in a couple of days (if the others who'd been taken ill were anything to go by) but for now even sitting up in bed wore him out completely. But he was a stubborn and determined hobbit, so when Rosie came in to the bedroom with a small bowl of broth she found him struggling to pull a pair of trousers on while listing precariously at the side of the bed.

"What on earth are you doing?" she scolded, gently but firmly pushing him back down.

"I need to get today's flower for you. The one I have in mind is a real beauty."

"Nonsense. There are no buds in the garden right now and your hothouse is too far away. Besides," she continued absently, fussing over him as she arranged the pillows behind his back, "I don't want a silly old flower, today or any day. Now just lie back and try some of this broth."

"You don't want flowers?"

"What?"

"Do you really not want flowers?"

Rosie, suddenly realizing what she had said, stammered to find words to take that look off of Sam's face. "Your flowers are beautiful, Sam, but I don't need to get one every day."

"Or any day, apparently."

"Oh now you're just sulking." She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. "If you want to know the truth, no, flowers aren't my favorite thing in the world. That doesn't mean I don't appreciate the sentiment when you give them to me."

"So, what do you like?"

Rosie thought about telling him he didn't need to bring her anything, that just his coming home was enough to make her smile. But true as that may be, she also knew he often worried that he didn't express his love enough, and no amount of reassurance eased his mind. Giving her something small every day was important to him; it was his way of showing how much he loved her. So she thought for a moment.

"I've always been partial to ferns."

"Ferns?"

"Yes. They're like nature's lace, delicate yet hearty. And there are so many different kinds in such a variety of shades of green."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Ferns."

Rosie gently caressed his cheek. "The flowers are lovely. Truly. And you know I don't need tokens of any kind. Not a day goes by that I don't feel how much you love me."

He smiled at that, but in his heart he knew he wanted to fill her life with everything she loved. So he spent the next few days thinking about ferns. It would take some time to cultivate them, especially any of considerable size and health. And whether grown or found in the wild, ferns in a vase of water would be awkward, that is if they didn't just flop out. But over time a few ideas began to form.

Sam started to plan a new garden, this one a mixture of flowers and ferns, collecting seeds and moving existing plants. He mixed wood chips and small stones in with his regular mulch to create more texture and color. It would take a couple of seasons for things to grow in to their full size, but even the bones of his work was a thing of beauty. Sam could tell immediately how much Rosie loved it. She spent more time in the garden, helping him tend the carefully planned plots, wanting to learn about the different varieties. And she was the first to show it off to guests, taking their family and friends on a quick tour, pointing out all the newest additions.

But Sam wanted to give her more, so once a week he'd set out for the woods and collect the prettiest fronds he could find. Borrowing blotting paper from Master Frodo, he pressed and dried them within the pages of the biggest book they owned, the Book of Medicines Rosie's mother had given them. After a little time he had a great collection, and once a month he'd bring a few to Myrtle Whitfoot who'd arrange them on a painted board and then frame the finished piece in wood. There was nothing finer than seeing the sparkle in Rosie's eye when she saw the newest addition to her fern art collection. She'd fuss about for an afternoon, trying one place and then another, until finally settling on the perfect location for the best display.

But what Rosie seemed to love the most was making notecards and stationary with some of the dried fronds, special paper for special occasions she'd say. She and the children would work on it together, and it became a much cherished tradition of the family. It took a little trial and error – learning how to make the paper, getting the weight just right, and finding the right adhesive to use were but only some of the challenges. But once they mastered the craft it became a monthly activity, and Sam could never grow tired of seeing the pride in Rosie's face as each project was completed and their collection of decorative paper grew.

For a while Sam didn't understand why Rosie preferred ferns to flowers. But every time he saw her admiring the garden or simply leafing through the dried fronds in their books, whenever she placed a small leaf in his buttonhole and gave him a kiss, he began to see them through her eyes. Graceful and enduring, now he could think of no better match for her beauty.


End file.
